


the light that shines to guide us (can blind us)

by Novelsinourheads



Series: we heed the call [1]
Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Chicago Firefighters (Blaseball Team), Found Family, Gen, Hanukkah, Panic Attacks, jewish!edric, ultimately not that different apparently, what might judaism look like in world where there are present tangible gods?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28019172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novelsinourheads/pseuds/Novelsinourheads
Summary: "For just a second he’s in the kitchen back home, the menorahs lined up before him, the big one with a wooden base that had once been his grandfather’s (and his mother’s before that) sitting in the window. The rest of them scattered across the counter, small and worn, but there’s still one for him and each of his sisters, the candle flames as bright as an Ump’s."ORan (angsty) exploration of alternate!edric tosser and what it's like to be thrown into a world of people who appear to be the same as the ones you knew but aren't with some chanukkah thrown in
Series: we heed the call [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2200800
Comments: 12
Kudos: 22
Collections: We Are Fanwork Creators





	1. the first night

**Author's Note:**

> hey hi hello! this is the first fanfic i've written and posted in uhhh 10 years and i'm very nervous about it so please be kind! this fic came out of all the lovely lore discussions we've been having in chicago and my incessant need to project and make every character i even slightly relate to jewish, which then got me thinking about how judaism would work in a world like blaseball, which in this chapter is not that differently! Oh, and the firestarter concept here comes from my own interpretation of what the firefighters have discussed our alternate team to be, as well as stuff related to the entity of Chicago and the Call.  
> Hope you enjoy!  
> (title comes from [The Call](https://thegarages.bandcamp.com/track/the-call) by the garages)

As the cold winter air drifts through the cracks of the firehouse, Edric Tosser is taking a small, worn, slightly rusted candelabra out of the shoebox he keeps it in. His ma handed it to him the day he was called to the league with short whispers to “keep it safe and clean” and “listen, you should have some part of us while you’re out there, at least. I don’t want you to forget where you’re from” and he’s tried to do his best on both counts, but a son is bound to fail at least a little. 

(The candlesticks she gave him still sit covered in the box in the back of his closet, because that’s too much to handle, the memories of too much family and too much food and running with his cousins all around the house. He tried to explain it to Tyreek once a lifetime ago, the way it’s like a gaping, clawed out hole in his chest that the team does their best to fill but it’s not the same, it can’t be the same, and yes he knows he could try to go and see them but with what time, and how he’s so scared something will happen to them and he won’t be able to get there, but that Tyreek was a different one, and is gone now doubly so, and so is his family (or at least the ones he knew), so what does it really matter anyways.)

The wax is still crusted along the sides, as it has been for the past 3 years (Edric curses himself for letting that lapse once again, but berating himself doesn’t help any more than usual so he leaves it be), so he makes a beeline to the bathroom and starts running it under water as hot as he can get it, scrubbing down the sink as the wax drips away.

(His mother used to stick all of theirs outside on the porch and let the wax freeze until it came right off, the metal shining from the streetlights. He wonders if this version of her does too, if she fries potatoes with oil splattering the cabinets, and if she misses him. He wonders if she knows what happened and if she grieved her version of him the same way he grieved (grieves) her or she even cares at all (He’s still too scared to find out even now, even after all these seasons.) For just a second he’s in the kitchen back home, the menorahs lined up before him, the big one with a wooden base that had once been his grandfather’s (and his mother’s before that) sitting in the window. The rest of them scattered across the counter, small and worn, but there’s still one for him and each of his sisters, the candle flames as bright as an Ump’s.)

Once it’s as clean as it’s going to get, Edric walks back to his room, slower this time. Setting it on his dresser, he grabs for the box of candles he keeps at the bottom of his sock drawer, old and tattered, but replenishes itself every year, just like it has ever since he got here. The match box he reaches for do too (they were in his back pocket (like every Firestarter has been taught since the beginning) when the switch happened, the candles were a fresh box he had just been sent in his jacket pocket, and he tries not to question it.) Taking just two from the box, he put one in the middle and one on the far right, and he can almost feel his mom’s hand on his shoulder as he strikes the match.

(He loves the Firefighters, he really does, he’s learned to after being here for so long, but he sees the way they look at him when he fiddles with the matchbook from his pocket. He fights fire now because that’s what they do, but sometimes the itch in his fingers is so unbearable he just wants to scream because for so long all he had was the flicker of the flame, the spark, the ignition running through his veins, and no one gets that because how could they? How could they understand the adrenaline, the need, the call that his Chicago had made to him when it’s the complete antithesis to what their Chicago had called to them with? So he stays silent and sticks to clutching his matchbook like it’s the most important thing in the world, which it kinda is.)

The prayers spill out of him before he even thinks, so routine that he’s just moving through the motions, and he probably is. He’s said them every year since he can remember, even before he had a menorah of his own and his sister had to help him. The words taste a little bitter on his tongue though, a little bit like ash and regret and he bites down on his tongue instead to clamp that feeling down so he doesn’t drown in it.

(He invited Spoon to join him that first year. They had never quite gotten along back home, him too arrogant and her too pious, and feelings too hurt after he failed to watch her back during one of their first missions as firestarters. “You are lucky that she is made of stone and not flesh,” Tyreek had said, cold as he would ever get, “Or we would be having a much different conversation right now. Step up to the plate, kid, or you’re nothing more than a liability”. Those words had echoed around in Edric’s head ever since, so years later when they had found themselves strangers in a strange place, the last vestiges of something only the two of them knew, he extended a branch with a secret and a prayer. She surprised him by actually showing up, and that night they cried and laughed but mostly cried, letting a season’s worth of confusion and grief bubble up and it felt like a relief to see and be seen by someone.

He misses all of them, he misses the way Atlas’s eyes would shine in the glint of a fire, the way Paula would clap him on the back so hard it was almost a slap, and Tyreek- the rest, he got to know in this world, but those three? He’ll never get the chance. And even after all the harsh truths and training to the bone-

He misses Tyreek the most. )


	2. second and third nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Firestarters, they were his team, his family, and he misses them so much that there’s another gaping hole in his heart, but he doesn’t know if he actually liked them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for panic attacks and discussion of scars, so be careful!  
> first off, thanks for all the kudos and kind words! this chapter definitely veered off the path from my original plan, but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless. we are looking one, maaaybe two chapters after this, with more chanukkah and hopefully less angst!

So he spends the first night alone, watching till the flames die out, and then crawling into his bed and smothering himself in enough blankets that all he feels is the weight of them and not the ache in his chest. The top one is a quilt Caleb had given him his first year here, patches of brilliant red and orange and blue like the diamond on their jackets, and it’s the comfort of that that lets him fall into a restless sleep. The next morning at breakfast Butt gives a look at the circles under Edric’s eyes but says nothing, instead just passing a steaming cup of coffee across the counter. Rosa, however, doesn’t pull any punches.

“You look like shit, Tosser.”

(If it was any other day he’d bite back with something (if he’s being honest, unwarrantedly) nasty, but the fight’s not there. He’s tired in the way that you can feel to the depths of your bones, the kind of tired that comes from just being entirely emotionally wrung dry. The first night always seems to get him like this ever since he got here, overwhelming him with nostalgia and grief and homesickness for something that doesn’t even exist anymore. Time and time again he wonders why he forces himself to do it when the aftermath hits him like a truck, but then the disappointed face of his mother appears and then it isn’t even a question anymore.)

Edric just glares at her, and for a second it looks like Rosa’s gearing up to say something that’ll actually hurt until Butt grabs her by the arm and pulls her over to the sink, whispering in her ear. Instead she just glares back and grabs her own coffee, saying “At least you’re not as bad as Declan,” because that’s how she shows she cares.

“Hey! What the fuck, Rivers?” They all turn to see Declan in the doorway, in one of his rattiest sweaters and fully dishevelled except for his headphones, which are in perfect position, exactly how they always are. Rosa somehow manages to look a little honest-to-god ashamed of herself and Edric is about to revel in it when Declan continues, “Aw man, Edric, you look like shit, buddy.”

His head hits the table in exasperation faster than it ever has before.

(It still takes him by shock sometimes how much he actually enjoys these people. They’re so much like their counterparts in some ways but also twisted facsimiles of themselves. Butt’s always been the overbearing dad of the group, but there, he was angry. He let his resentment and bitterness rise to the top. This version of him cares so deeply for everyone it’s overwhelming just to see sometimes. Rosa was always filled to the brim with cutting words and a guard up sky high, but there her smiles were plentiful, sharp and full of malice and a hint of danger. Here, they’re more rare but they’re also genuine and have a softness that the other Rosa never possessed. Declan… by the end of season 3 he had gotten so many stars that he was so unbearably arrogant, worse than Tillman. Here, he makes mistakes but still tries, and that makes all the difference.

The Firestarters, they were his team, his family, and he misses them so much that there’s another gaping hole in his heart, but he doesn’t know if he actually liked them.)

\-------

Socks joins him that night. Sitting expectantly on his bed, they hiss at him until he lights the first candle. It’s a little weird, sitting in silent companionship with a cat, watching the flames until they burn all the way down, but it’s nice too, in it’s own way. When the last candle flickers out, they give a curt nod and slink off to the door, waiting impatiently for Edric to open it. As he does, he notices a small envelope slipped under the door. It’s a gift card from Butt to Home Dlepot with a note that says “Make something useful” and signed with a smiley face, which is such a Butt thing to do that he actually laughs out loud, and it’s enough to put a smile on his face for the rest of the night.

The next day Isaac and Poole rope him into a late afternoon pick up game behind the firehouse. It’s been a quiet day, the city almost eerily calm, and besides, they can hear the alarms if they go off from here anyways. The grass is crisp and a little slick from the frost but it hasn’t actually snowed yet, and the cool air is so sharp in Edric’s lungs that it’s cleansing a little bit. He breathes it out slowly, using the little clouds that come out to try and center himself before the first pitch. Tossing the ball up to prep, it seems to almost take a lifetime to come back down, and then they’re off so fast everything is almost a blur. There’s only six of them (Caleb had come (literally) dragging Spoon, throwing furtive looks at Isaac and Lou’s still in her running gear) so it’s less of a game and more like batting practice, but they’re all so deeply competitive that it gets heated anyways. 

They’re in the middle of a (theoretical) very tense 5th inning when it happens. He’s thrown Spoon a fastball and she hits it right back to him, managing to catch him on the shoulder right on the scar from the pitch that brought them here in the first place and it burns. The pain is white hot in a way he’s only felt once before, and it’s enough to send him stumbling backwards, dropping his mitt behind him. Catching Spoon’s eye, he knows that she knows, and all he can get out is a brief “Sorry, I-'' before turning and running back towards the house at breakneck speed, and locking himself in the first bathroom he can. Of course, it happens to be the one with the stained glass window of Tyreek, because that’s just his luck this week.

There’s really no reason for him to be crying but there he is, choking down tears and air that has seemingly vanished from his lungs. Feeling for the scar, there’s a bruise starting to form over it, but other than that it’s the same perfect imprint of a ball, seams and all. Spoon and Declan are calling at the door but all he can do is clench at the counter for dear life, like it’s the only thing keeping him upright as he tries to suck a few more breaths in. The reminder of the searing hot pain that came with being stuck in time itself and coming out the other side into a world he didn’t know clouds his entire brain.

(Spoon and him talked about what it felt like once, a little after a week of them being here. The first few days she wouldn’t even speak to him, so mad that he had brought her here, even though they both knew it was an accident. He didn’t blame her, still doesn’t, because whether he meant to or not, stumbling back into her when he caught that ground out ripped both of them from the lives they had. He still feels so guilty about it sometimes, even if they’ve both settled in well enough; because now he understands the gravity of that, of having to mourn the people you once knew and just move on, because you have a new job to do. What he is grateful for is knowing that she was spared the physical pain of that catch, the wrongness that spread all through his arm, and feeling even a fraction of that again is one of the scariest thing that’s happened to him since he got here, even through the PODS and incinerations and everything in between.)

Spoon is still there, but Edric manages to catch his breath just as she’s threatening to pick the lock. He gives one last look to the Tyreek in the glass before opening the door, wondering for the thousandth time if all of this would make more sense if he was still here. A promise to Spoon to talk later is enough for her to let him be, and after a round of apologies for running off, he heads up and locks himself in his room.

He doesn’t light the candles that night.


	3. a dream interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It’s the Tyreek he met as a fresh faced 19 year old, standing tall over a fire with a vicious smile and flames glinting in all six of their eyes, their halo a bright, burning red. It’s simultaneously a brutal hit of home and such a stark contrast from the symbols of Tyreek that are everywhere in this world that Edric truly could cry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, a week's worth of late night lore chats about alternates and other stuff managed to derail me into this, and what was supposed to just be a few paragraphs turned into a full chapter's length of stuff. so here we are! the end is in sight though, and there will be some actual chanukkah content again lmao
> 
> enjoy!

Tyreek is in his dream that night. It’s just the two of them in an empty stadium, pitch black night outside except for the floodlights and the stars. At a quick glance, he can tell it’s them. It’s the Tyreek he met as a fresh faced 19 year old, standing tall over a fire with a vicious smile and flames glinting in all six of their eyes, their halo a bright, burning red. It’s simultaneously a brutal hit of home and such a stark contrast from the symbols of Tyreek that are everywhere in this world that Edric truly could cry. 

“Sit with me,” They command from across the field.

(This is already more complex than Edric’s dreams usually are. Most nights he doesn’t even dream at all, and when he does they lean one of two ways. It’s either hazy snippets of his childhood; warming up at the barre with his younger sisters and helping them get ready before a recital, holding his oldest sister’s hand as their mother lit the shabbos candles, the wind in his hair as they ran by the creek behind his house, or more frequently, vivid nightmares. His family, in the stands as a rogue ump takes its turn against the crowd. Them, lost in a fire he couldn’t get to in time. Them, in a fire he started himself. This is something else entirely, it seems.)

Tyreek has already taken a seat by the mound so he sits down next to him, drawing his legs up to his chest and wrapping around them as tight as possible. He stares at the ground, not knowing what to say.

“It wouldn’t have, just so you know.”

His head snaps up to look at them, the question written on his face.

“Me being here, or them being here, it wouldn’t have made any of this make more sense, or easier, or anything like that. Blaseball is a bloodsport for a reason, even if it’s one we can’t comprehend.”

“You learned that the hard way, I guess.”

“Perhaps.” They take a breath. “The people here certainly seem to think so. I’m their ultimate martyr.”

Edric shakes his head and grins, “You would be a fan of that, wouldn’t you? This version of you, not so much, from what I hear. But you? A statue would suit you just fine.” 

“What can I say?” Tyreek grins back at him and then sighs. “You know, I never quite understood the way you couldn’t just let go of me. That’s always been you, one foot back in the past, unable to move forward.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve always been too focused on what you can’t change that you miss the things around you, good or bad. Maybe it’s time to grow up and move on. Languishing like this makes you vulnerable.”

“Is that really so bad? To be vulnerable?”

“It is when it leaves you wide open for some to stab you in the back.”

“And what do you know about that? The perfect paragon of justness and knowing what’s right?”

“I’m not perfect, Edric. I wasn’t then and I’m not now. I think you, both versions of you, put me on a pedestal.”

(They’re not wrong, of course. Tyreek had always been one of Chicago’s chosen, even more so than the rest of them. He remembers meeting him for the first time when he first was Called, still commuting in from the suburbs, bright eyed and a little too optimistic. Tyreek was the epitome of everything he wanted to be. Confident, so sure of themself and who they were, and an unparalleled ability to take control of a situation. They extended their hand over a fire and Edric was so convinced his life was about to change for the better. These days, he’s not so sure.)

“Whatever.”

Tyreek looks him straight in the eye with an intensity that scares him a little. “No matter how hard you try, you can’t go back. You can’t go back and stop either of those balls, not the one that came for you, and not the one that came for me. You can’t stop that pain, so stop running from it.”

Edric tears his eyes away and drops his face to his hands. There's so many unspoken words rising in his chest and he wants to rage or scream or cry but he can't, so instead all he utter is a quiet: “Fuck you.”

A long silence stretches, Tyreek seemingly content to let that hang in the air. It isn’t until a few minutes later when Edric pipes up, voice muffled in his arms.

“Was I really a liability?”

“You could be, sometimes. When you got like this, especially.” 

Tyreek isn’t being harsh about it, but it still stings.

“Am I still, do you think?”

“I think you need to worry less about whether you are or not, and more about what you can do to make sure you’re not.”

(There’s only been two people in this world that have ever been able to see right through him to the rotten core, and that’s Tyreek and Spoon. Sometimes it felt like they could reach and drag out all the awful, ugly things out from under his skin and pin them up for the world to see. And he’d listen because that was what they’d all do: pick at each other until one of them would break. But those two could dig down to the truth and twist it and make it hurt. That’s kind of what this conversation feels like, but gentler, like being raked through the coals and laid down to heal.)

“Well, I think that’s enough from me for one night,” Tyreek claps him on the back and stands up. “Keep your head on straight, kid. You’re going to need it.”

The sounds of their footsteps echo away louder and louder until they just vanish, and it’s just Edric sitting on the pitcher’s mound, by himself, in silence.

(Of the four colours of the Fire, he’s always related to red the most. The colour of smoke, of burnout, of running till you can’t anymore and all that’s left is the razed ground behind you. He knows intimately the feeling of being stuck in the middle of a blaze, not being able to see past your hands, choking on the air. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time to be blue, to allow that flame to burn as hot as it can and emerge anew.)


	4. the 4th and 5th days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It’s funny, he thinks, because 5 years ago you could never have caught them in this position; even being in the same room would almost inevitably end in some kind of blowout and hurt feelings. Maybe being here has done them some good after all"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i keep saying there's just one chapter left, but i promise after this there really is just one chapter left! as promised: more chanukkah and more fluff, so enjoy!

It’s a little before dawn when he wakes up. 

His blinds have been closed for the last week (month), keeping his room dark because anything else felt like too much, and overnight the stagnant energy that permeated the room has switched to something electric. So he flings them open to see the sun just barely peeking out over the horizon, red and pink and orange spilling out onto piles of untouched snow. It’s enough to draw out a hint of a smile, but he’s still shaking a little from the dream and it’s going to be one hell of a day once they get on shift at noon, so he reaches for the garishly orange pullover Lou made him last year and the pack of cigarettes he keeps hidden in the bottom of his dresser and then slips out onto the old fire escape and heads up to the roof.

The way the cold hits him almost pulls the breath straight out of him, and he’s immediately cursing the fact that he’s just in a sweater and sweatpants, but that never stopped him back home and wasn’t about to now. He’s been sitting on the ledge for just a minute or two when he hears Spoon come up behind him. He doesn’t turn around, instead lights up his cigarette and offers one to her even though they both know she’ll turn it down.

(If it was anyone else up here, they’d be giving him shit, but it’s Spoon who’s seen him after one too many breakdowns, who knows it’s something he’s never quite been able to fully shake even almost a decade after leaving the mines and that he only brings them out on days like this.)

“You scared me yesterday, Tosser.” 

He sighs, rubbing his face a little, “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Well, as long as you’re sorry, I guess.” 

She pauses, waiting for Edric to finish up his cigarette before sitting down next to him.

“Are you going to tell me what’s up or are you just going to freeze your ass off because you’re a dumbass who won’t put on a coat?”

“Tyreek was in my dream last night.”

“Ours?”

“Yeah.”

She gives out a shaky breath, “And?”

“Same self-righteous asshole as always, I guess. Gave me a talking to that I probably deserved.”

She hums in acknowledgement and picks up the lighter he had left next to him on the ledge. Even without looking at her, he can tell she’s fidgeting with it in the same way he’s thumbing the pack of matches in his pocket, like second nature.

(What a pair they must look like, sitting side-by-side on the roof of this building almost as old as the city itself, Spoon a full three heads taller than him, Edric in nothing but sweatpants and this bright orange sweater from Lou at least 3 sizes too big. It’s funny, he thinks, because 5 years ago you could never have caught them in this position; even being in the same room would almost inevitably end in some kind of blowout and hurt feelings. Maybe being here has done them some good after all.)

“So, yesterday...”

“I was so scared, Justice. And it wasn’t just the pain or the memory of it or any of that that scared me, I think, though that didn’t help. I think the reason I was so scared was that I was scared I was being sent back. That’s all I wanted for so long and now-” He pauses for a second, trying to gather his thoughts, “And now, it kinda actually feels like the worst thing in the world.”

She nods her head. “Do you remember the first fire we were sent to here?”

“Kinda.”

(He does. It was their second week here, because that first week everyone was too shocked, and then too nervous to send them out, these two unknown entities filled to the brim with rage and ire for each other and everything around them. It was Kirby that finally sat them down and told them the rules and expectations, got them in order and trained them up, and then finally forced them out on that first call. A two house fire, families stuck inside, and a blazing inferno out of control. The young mom in one of them, she looked so much like his sister that it still haunts him. Actually having to stick around and see the aftermath of that blaze, it was the first time he didn’t take pleasure in a fire, almost a suckerpunch of the reality of what he had been doing, had been called to do for years.)

“I still think about it sometimes. Kinda put into perspective what we could have been, if we had tried. Or had wanted to. We-” She takes a deep breath, “We weren’t a team, not really. Definitely not a family, no matter what we said. I don’t think I ever really knew what that was until I got here. They put up a statue for Tyreek. What did we do? Nothing. No mural, no stained glass, no recognition in any way that actually mattered, not for them, not for anyone. Even though it’s what we were supposed to fight for. Chicago.. She failed us and we failed each other. Over and over. So I think I would have been scared too.”

A silence overtakes them. It’s not tense, or heated, or anything other than comfortable, it turns out. So they sit, until Spoon brushes herself off and stands up, poking him and telling Edric he’s going to get frostbite before heading back in.

He wonders if this is what growth feels like.

\------

Edric is right, it is one hell of a day, and then two as they get another foot and a half of snow on top of the one that was already there. He barely has time to light the candles that night but makes sure he does before he goes to sleep, even though it's hours past sundown. It isn’t until the tail end of their shift the next day when he has a second to breath again. There’s nothing more that he wants than to crawl under his covers and pass right out, but Declan has managed to convince him to come along and shovel the walks of the several old women who had adopted him over the course of many cold Chicago winters. 

So he finds himself in the passenger seat of Declan Suzanne’s El Camino, listening to Klaty’ Perry’s Peacock for the fourth time in a row, when it hits him that he might actually be a little bit happy. Don’t get it wrong, the song’s making him want to bang his head on the windshield repeatedly, but it may be the first time in months (or years) that he’s feeling something without a layer of fear or sadness or numbness behind it, and he doesn’t know what to do with that. 

Another three repeats of the song and they’re at the first house, and after 10 minutes of shovelling and a plateful of cookies to bring back to the firehouse from Mrs. Salazar, they’re off again. He almost has the cookies safely back in the car when he feels a snowball nail him hard in the back of his head. The plate barely makes it on top of the roof before Edric has turned around to tackle a grinning Declan to the ground with a loud laugh.

(One time, barely a month before the switch, Declan and him had gotten into a full on brawl. It had been away games for the past 15 days and they had been rooming together the whole time, aggravation simmering underneath everything until one day, it reached a boiling point. Edric had been writing a letter to his sister and Declan called it lame one too many times, going in farther then he probably should have. Even with Declan having a full 10 inches on him, Edric still managed to give him a black eye before Lou and Rivers pulled them apart, both a little roughed up. The lecture they both got was brutal, but not as brutal as the words they passed between each other, venom and violence dripping out of every word. That was the last time they ever spoke, refusing to even be in the same room beyond necessity, carrying on the anger right until the moment he left. It still hurts a little, to know that there might be a version out there of Declan that still hates him.)

Once they were both suitably covered in snow, it was time to move on. Very cold and a little damp, he sits through the drive to another five houses as the song blared on before approaching the subject.

“So what was that about? The snow, I mean.”

Declan shrugged. “Idk man, you’ve been all sad and shit lately. And I know I moped for weeks after Tillman left and didn’t call but like, you just act like you’re totally fine even though I can tell that you’re not fine, and I didn’t know what to do, but I thought a snowball fight might cheer you up.”

“I mean, it worked, so thank you. Is that why you dragged me out here?”

“Well, that and I miss my best friend.”

Edric knows that Declan and his counterpart were extremely close, and though him and Declan are certainly friends, there’s no way he’s meant him. 

“Oh, well hopefully I’m a good enough enough substitute.”

Declan looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “No, dumbass, I’m talking about you. Don’t get me wrong, that other guy was pretty cool, but he wasn’t the one who dragged me out to play skee ball after 5 days in bed, or who flew with me to Baltimore and Charleston just so I could could talk to Tillman and didn’t get mad when I chickened out. That was you. No one else on the team would have done that.”

“Oh.”

“I know feeling things is lame and shit but you’re my best friend. You know that, right?”

It takes everything in him to not let the tears welling in his eyes overflow, but somehow he manages. 

“Yeah, I do.”

\-----

The sun is peaking the last of it’s head out as they arrive at the last house, which turns out to be owned by 87 year old Mrs. Kaplan, who ushers them inside and grabs Edric’s hand.

“You must be the boy Declan talked about!”

He shoots Declan a questioning look but he just shakes his head and grins.

“Only good things, I hope?”

“Of course, dear. Now, come.”

She leads him into the kitchen where there’s a plate of latkes and kugel and donuts piled high, and the smell hits him like a train. 

“I had mentioned to Declan that I had no one to join me this year now that my kids had moved and he had said he knew someone who was in a similar position. Do you mind?” She points toward the menorah.

“Not at all, ma’am.”

After, she sends them home with the plate, and Edric can’t help but eat one of the pancakes as soon as they’re in the car. It’s the closest he’s felt to home in a long, long time, and his heart is full as he turns to Declan.

“Hey, Declan?”

“Yeah, man?”

“Thanks.”

Declan just smirks and turns up the volume on his shitty speaker.


	5. the final nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Falling through space and time, playing a bloodsport where people get burned to death on the spot, saving people, starting fires, even hearing the Call; it’s all things that have been outside his control to some extent. But this, making the conscious choice to lay himself bare, not knowing what Isaac will say, and just leaving it out there, it’s utterly terrifying."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOAH gang we are finally here! This chapter is massive (at least in comparison to the rest of the fic- we're talking the length of chapters 1-3 combined), but I really didn't want to split it again so here we are. There's at least two more fics in the works set in this verse, oneshots based off moments alluded to in this story, so keep an eye out for that if that interests you.
> 
> CW for description of drowning

Edric wakes up early that morning, though not as early as before. The halls are still quiet though, and he should be just in time to catch Isaac before he leaves. Despite how exerting the past two days have been, there’s a harsh, frenetic energy running through his veins, leaving him restless and an itch beneath his skin he can’t reach. In the past, he usually just would have locked himself in his room, sometimes taking his book of matches and lighting them one by one until he felt like he was in his own skin again, because at his core he’s still a melodramatic asshole. But he’s trying to not do that anymore for a multitude of reasons, so joining Isaac on his daily run like he sometimes would during the on-season seems like the best bet. 

He manages to catch him right as he’s heading out the door, and when he asks to join, Isaac just nods. They’re silent for the first couple minutes, Edric trying to let Isaac have his peace, but the sound of their shoes hitting the snow that hasn’t been fully cleared yet is grinding against his ears in a way that makes him want to squirm, so he isn’t that surprised when his next words slip out his mouth without him meaning to. 

“So what’s going on with you and Caleb, huh?”

Isaac keeps his eyes glued in front of him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“Oh, come on. Everyone can see how you look at him. Plus, Caleb practically threw a fit to make Spoon come to that pickup game, so you can’t tell me it’s not mutual.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he’s cursing himself, because he’s been trying to avoid dealing with the scene he caused that day. If he’s lucky, Isaac will just focus on the first part of what he just said.

“Oh, actually I meant to talk to you about that game- Wait. Did you just say you think Caleb likes me?”

“In not so many words, but yeah. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Wow, uh… good to know, I guess.” He shakes his head, and then moves on. “But what I meant to say before that was, you kinda freaked out during that game. I know I’m not always the best with words, but I care about you. We all do.”

Edric can feel the lump creeping up his throat and it’s absolutely too much to handle right now, and the way his skin is crawling means it feels like he needs to get away from this conversation immediately, so he speeds up, and yells back to Isaac before breaking into a sprint.

“Meet you at the park!”

\-----

Isaac finds him a few minutes later, out of breath and panting on one of the benches. He can tell he’s staring at him, but doesn’t lift his head, instead just keeping his eyes fixed at the footprint he left in front of him. 

“I’m fine,” He bites.

Isaac sits down next to him on the bench. “I’m like, not an expert or anything, but sprinting away as fast as you can when someone says they care about you doesn’t exactly read as fine.”

“I don’t know about that. I bet I can go faster.”

Isaac just levels him a look that makes Edric want to squirm away, but he knows that he shouldn’t.

(The thing is, being vulnerable doesn’t come naturally for Edric. Being vulnerable back on the Firestarters meant you’d get hurt, that your flaws and feelings would be picked apart for the whole world to see. He learned that the first time Rosa cut him down to size for being over-excited and “too much”. And being too much, well, Edric’s been too much his entire life. So yeah, maybe he has tried to make himself smaller, and cut himself off from anything he thought could possibly hurt, and die a little inside, maybe. It was easier than what else could happen. But that approach hasn’t got him very far yet, so it might be time for something different.)

“Okay, fine. Maybe I’m not. But I’m sick of not being okay, you know? So if I say it enough, maybe it’ll be true.”

“Edric, I don’t know how many of us you could classify as ‘okay’. A lot of the workshops I go to really emphasize that there’s no such thing as that. I know we’re not necessarily close, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“Did Spoon say what was going on?”

Isaac shakes his head. “She said it was your business, and that you’d tell if you wanted.”

“Good.”

“Do you? Want to talk about it, I mean?”

“Oh.” Edric breathes out slowly, focusing on the way it hangs in the air. There’s so much he wants to say, things that have been bouncing around his brain until they become the only he can hear some nights. He can tell Isaac is getting restless, and it seems like he’s just about to get up when it slips out.

“There was just something that happened during the game that spooked me into feeling like I was being sent back to where I was from. And it got me thinking that you guys probably wouldn’t have minded.”

Isaac begins to cut in, but Edric quickly continues.

“No, just listen for a minute. Sometimes I’m scared you guys are going to realize just how bad of a person I am and give up on me. The way you used to talk about the other me, he seemed like a genuinely good guy. And I know you guys miss him, because I miss my other team and my family. Plus, you know, his life’s purpose wasn’t devoted to chaos and destruction, so he’s automatically a better person, probably. So, I get it, you know? And even if I’ve managed to clean up my act and get you guys to like me now doesn’t mean I’m not still that person, and one day I’m going to slip up and show my ass.”

(Somehow, this is one of the scariest things he’s ever done. Falling through space and time, playing a bloodsport where people get burned to death on the spot, saving people, starting fires, even hearing the Call; it’s all things that have been outside his control to some extent. But this, making the conscious choice to lay himself bare, not knowing what Isaac will say, and just leaving it out there, it’s utterly terrifying, and if he’s being honest, he’s not sure whether he’s more scared for Isaac to deny it, or confirm everything he thinks must be true.)

“Edric, buddy, no offense, but if that’s what’s swimming around in your head all the time, we should maybe find someone for you to talk to, you know? It’s covered in our union contracts. And obviously, that’s a decision only you can make, but it might be good for you?” 

Edric doesn’t respond, because fuck, he’s probably right, but the idea makes him want curl up into a ball and never speak again, and in the corner of his mind he’s thinking about how other Isaac would have laughed him out of the room if the idea was so much as brought up. Fortunately, this one can recognize his discomfort and moves on.

“And we don’t think that, or I don’t, at least. Yeah, we miss that Edric because he was our friend, but that doesn’t mean we don’t want you here, or that we want him here instead of you, or that we’d be happy if you were gone, or any of that. Sure, things might have been tense at the beginning, but we’ve all been trying, and you’ve been trying too. You both have been trying so hard to be better people, and that’s all we can ever do, right? And we’re not going to give up on you. If there’s one thing the firefighters don’t do, it’s give up on each other.”

He stands up, offering his hand to Edric to help him get up too. They start walking back towards the firehouse, quiet steps in tandem.

“Sorry for barging in and then ruining your workout, man.”

Isaac shakes his head and grins. “Nah, it’s okay. You clearly needed to deal with something, so it’s all good. Hey, did you ever think about reaching out to your family? I know you miss them.”

That stops him in his tracks for a second, and he has to take a deep breath before responding.

“No, it just always seems too painful, you know? I don’t know them, and they don’t know me, and I don’t know, it just seems like it’s easier all around this way.”

“Well, maybe it might be worth a shot. It’s not like we have any games coming up.”

“Yeah, you might be right. Now, do you think I can beat you back to the firehouse?”

“Someone’s getting cocky.” Isaac shoots him a grin before starting off.

Edric does not beat him back.

\-----

He sits in his room that night, watches the candles flicker, takes a breath, watches the candles flicker, takes a breath, over and over until they’re gone, and all that’s left is the drips of wax and his thoughts. All day he’s been mulling over what Isaac had said, and he knows he has to do at least one of them. To be honest, he hadn’t even considered reaching out to his family, but he’s tired of mourning them when there’s a version of them still here, so even though the idea terrifies him, it might just be time.

The next morning, when he gets back from his shower, there’s a small card slipped under his door, and immediately he can tell it’s the name and number of the person Isaac had mentioned on their walk back the day before. After tucking it away in this wallet for safe keeping, he goes downstairs for brunch. 

(It took him 3 weeks to stop getting lost between his bedroom and just about anywhere else when they first arrived. The thing is, the firehouse is a nebulous thing, shifting and changing with the needs of those who live there, because it’s fueled by Chicago herself. And while it’s a beautiful thing, it also means that it was different from the one that he knew. Even more than that, part of him thinks it was a test from her, of his patience; to show that he could control the rage that simmered so close to the top and keep a level head, to show that she could trust him.)

It’s a pretty raucous scene when he gets there, everyone’s off today so there’s people all crowded around the counter. This week’s chore chart has gone up, and him and Rosa are on grocery duty, which is both good and bad because she will inevitably complain about having to do it since she has her own apartment besides the room in the fire house, but it has also worked out perfectly with the plan that’s slowly forming in his head, so he’ll take it.

Rosa’s pretty engrossed with her phone so he takes the opportunity to try and spook her, which works gloriously, and she jumps violently and turns to glare at him.

“I hate you.”

“I know.” He just grins back at her before gesturing at the board. “Hey, do you think we could stop at the library on our way back?” 

“What are you up to?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She stares at him for a minute, the two of them smirking at each other, before continuing. ”You know what? I don’t actually care, so, sure..”

“Sweet! Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, now you owe me a favour, so…”

\-----

As expected, Rosa does complain all the way there about the groceries, which frankly he doesn’t blame her for, because it entails them managing 4 shopping carts and then shoving everything into her side car even though it should absolutely not fit, especially the the extra big bag of potatoes that Edric managed to slip in this week. 

He actually gets her to drop him off at the post office, which is directly across the street from the library, and he grabs a ton of envelopes and a pack of stamps before heading over. In the back of his head he knows he could ask anyone to help him with this (Spoon and Butt would do it in a heartbeat), but this is something he needs to do himself, it seems, so he finds a computer and sits down.

He looks up each member of his family one by one. They’re all still there, thank god, though he knows in the back of his brain that someone would have let him know if that wasn’t the case. The twins are in college now, which is terrifying in so many ways, and Mira, the youngest, is almost done high school, which is even worse. Confronting the reality of just how much he’s missed is overwhelming, no matter how much he tells himself he doesn’t know these people.

(In everything that he can pick out that was wrong in his old life, the one bright spot was always, unequivocally his sisters. And it hurts, knowing that he had given that up because he was too scared; scared of losing them, scared of them having to lose him, scared of letting himself feel that pain. So he made his mom promise to not let them watch, to not come to any games, and he stopped writing, and visits home stopped as soon as it became clear what exactly the league was to become. If he’s being honest, there’s part of him that still stands by it. He was a scared kid, barely twenty and had just been faced with his own mortality seriously for the first time. So does he mourn those years? Yes. But regret them? No.)

Addresses written down, he heads back to the firehouse. Later, after dinner and all the food’s put away, he starts. As the candles burn, he sits, putting stilted words to paper, trying not to drown in the guilt and fear. The one to his mom is long, and arduous in it’s own way because at least in his world, he broke every promise he made her before leaving Joliet. He’s scared she’ll just ignore it, or won’t pass the other ones on to his younger sisters, because when he got here, he wrote a pretty awful, cold letter home, just to be sure they’d leave him alone. He wouldn’t blame her either, but there’s part of him that really, really wants this to work. 

The last one he’s working on is for his older sister, Erika. They were always the closest even though there was a 4 years difference between the two of them, the rest of his sisters were so close in age that they stuck together like thieves. She could also read him like a book, which made everything all the much harder.

(The last time he had seen her, it was season 3 and she had come to one of the home games. They got into a massive fight, screaming and yelling and all right on the field. At the time, he thought she just didn’t get it, that she couldn’t possibly get it and she couldn’t understand that he was just trying to protect her. She accused him of having a saviour complex and of running away from the truth. The whole scene was the talk of the station for the next week.

In the end, he got his wish, but the cost was heavier than he ever could have thought.)

\-----

The next morning, before dawn, he slips notes under everyone’s doors, asking them to meet him in the kitchen that night. After, he heads out on a walk, this time by himself; just him, his letters, and a not warm enough coat. There’s a mailbox at the end of the street, and he drops each card in one by one, and it’s a little like watching a piece of his heart float away with each one. 

Somehow, he ends up along the lake just as the sun is creeping up over the skyline. The wind is cold and harsh as he sits on the pier, stinging his cheeks, but it’s a reminder that he’s alive. And he is, he’s excitingly, joyfully, painfully alive for maybe the first time in his life, and it’s electric and exhilarating and horrific all in one. It’s dangerous to let yourself feel something in a splort like blaseball, a life like firefighting, he’s always thought, but he’s just so tired. Tired of hiding, tired of running, tired of forgetting.

(There was a creek that ran behind his mother’s house, small but deep. It would freeze over in the winter and once it was thick enough, they’d all strap on their skates and spend the afternoon out there. One year, when he was around 10, they hadn’t checked properly, and him and Mira fell through. He managed to push her out but got sucked under. That feeling of drowning, the shock of the cold that freezes you from the inside out, the way it crushes your chest so you can’t breathe and all there is is you and the water, it’s a little like how he feels now, frozen, scared, but he can tell the warmth is coming, and for once he wants to let himself feel it.)

\-----

He spends all day in the kitchen, baking and cooking, Josh coming in and out, lending a hand when he can. Spoon comes with Baby, early in the afternoon, and they help him cut out the cookies. Goobie helps him roll out the balls for the soup, which is simmering away on the stove, and Ken gives him a hand, grating piles and piles of potatoes. It feels like home, reminding him of the way his mom and his aunts and all his sisters and cousins and him would crowd into their small kitchen, laughing and overheating. 

Everyone starts filtering in slowly, moving food to the table, grabbing extra chairs, and the room gets louder and louder with every person. The last ones to arrive are Duffy and Holloway, just as he’s pulling the last of the latkes out of the oil. He looks at everyone gathered around the table, which is piled high with as much fried food as he could manage, donuts and pancakes and everything in between, and it makes his heart warm in a way he can’t describe.

(These people, they drive him nuts more often than not. But they also all have so much heart and care so much, more than he ever thought possible, and it’s enough to bow him over again and again till he can’t breath. It’s a fatal flaw, the inability they have to not give up, even when someone (thinks) they may deserve it. His entire time here, it’s always been about the potential of who he could be; not who he was or who he is, but who he’s trying to be, and that, more than anything, has been the greatest gift he could have gotten, it seems.)

It takes him a minute to gather his senses, but he walks over and gently puts the plate on the table, and moves to get everyone’s attention. It’s awkward, because for all his bravado and energy, he’s never particularly liked being the center of attention, but this is something he has to do, so he just starts.

“Hey, so I, um, wanted to ask you all here to say some things. I’ve been here for a while now, but I haven’t always been the best at expressing myself. I mean, I talk a lot, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve realised I haven’t been especially open, or friendly.”

Looking out, he can tell a few of them want to say something, but he continues.

“Coming here was a hard adjustment, I’m not going to lie. It was so sudden, and I was so angry, and I missed my family, so I closed myself off when I probably shouldn’t have.”

(It’s true. The screaming matches he had with Rivers, the way he’d brush Josh off, try and keep Declan at an arm’s distance, it was all meant to help, but all he can see now is how much hurt it did.)

“So, this is me, sharing a little part of myself. This:” He gestures to the table. “And this:”

He turns around to where he had set up his menorah. It’s not by the window, but underneath the wall of pictures, underneath Tyreek and Jose and all the crabs and Axel’s license plate. 

“This is what my family’s done for generations and generations, and now you’re all my family, so it seems like the right time to share it. So thank you, for coming, and caring, and helping and letting me grow and learn. It means more than I could ever say.”

It’s silent, which is unnerving, but Spoon catches his eyes, and he can tell immediately that he did the right thing. So he gestures for everyone to eat, and they do as the candles burn, and in this moment, it doesn’t matter. The dozens of ways he’s bound to screw up, the games lost, the fires he’ll fail to put out, none of it matters, because he’s finally home.

(Later that night, Spoon will find him out by Tyreek’s statue, leaving a stone at the base, and they’ll smile. Two weeks from now, He’ll get a letter in the mail from his sister, angry and cold all at once, and he’ll cry and go for a run, just to able to yell where no one can hear him. But for now, he’s here, with his family, and that’s all that matters.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, a few finals things to say. First off, I'm incredibly thankful for everyone who's left kudos and comments, but I'd be remiss to not mention the firefighters lore camp, who have just been the biggest cheerleaders imaginable, and this story would likely not have been posted without their love and support hyping me up. Special shoutout to thursday for putting me in #PARTYTIME to get it done lol. And I'm not going to lie, I am proud of myself for finishing this in a massively hard month in an even harder year, and writing about 7k more than i have in the past 10 years. Here's to blaseball, and all that it allows us to create.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! there will be 1-2 more chapters covering the rest of the nights depending on how much my brain goes brrrrr.


End file.
